


Mornings

by ReasonablyUnreasonable



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff without Plot, I wrote this in Maths class, M/M, Other, and wears prada, because my Maths teacher looks like Matt Cohen, what have i become
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 07:31:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4951846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReasonablyUnreasonable/pseuds/ReasonablyUnreasonable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why Michael gets a job as a highschool teacher is a mystery to everyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mornings

Why Michael gets a job as a highschool teacher, a  _Maths_ teacher at that, is a mystery to everyone, but Maths are a horror, and oftentimes so is his older brother, so Lucifer thinks it's fitting.

They are Archangels; they don't need to sleep, or eat, and they definitely don't need to make money. Maybe he enjoys watching the despair written on his human students' faces. But that sounds like something Lucifer himself would enjoy, so Michael probably doesn't.

He isn't  _strongly_ against his brother's decision to work, even if he doesn't really understand it, but it means Michael has to get up every morning and leave their apartment, so Lucifer has to hate it a little on principle.

And it's not like he goes out of his way to actively sabotage his brother's work, or anything like that.

* * *

Sleeping may not be a neccesity, but lying in bed cuddling for several hours is, in Lucifer's not so humble opinion, or as he likes to call it: the only objective truth.

He makes a disgrunted sound of protest when Michael's alarm- an  _alarm,_ like they don't both know what the exact time it is, like they have any need for such stupid human inventions- begins to ring, an obnoxious song disrupting their peace, and rolls over to quiet it with half a mind to smite the thing into silence.

"Brother," he slurs, barely audible but a clear warning.

Michael has the nerve to sigh and make an attempt to leave the bed, as if it's acceptable for him to be anywhere but in Lucifer's arms right now. Ridiculous.

"Work," Michael says, such a weak excuse, and he tries to untangle himself from his little brother's limbs. " _Luci_."

"Call a sick day."

"I'm not sick."

"Call an 'I need to stay at home to cuddle and maybe fuck my brother' day."

Michael snorts, relaxing into the mattress and allowing Lucifer to cling to him for the moment, gentle fingers running through his hair. Lucifer shifts closer to the comforting warmth that is his brother. Human bodies. Not half bad after all.

"Are you trying to tempt me, little brother?" Michael asks, a note of amusement in his voice.

"Always," Lucifer grins, breath ghosting over his brother's skin. He presses chaste, gentle kisses to Michael's throat, a silent plea, an offering and a game all rolled into one. It's become a challenge by now.

Michael is often indulging but rarely ever yielding, and that suits them both just fine, because neither of them can afford to win or lose, even at something as trivial as this. Lucifer can never help pushing a little too far, and Michael never fails to rise to the bait. But it works.

"I hate it when you leave," Lucifer murmurs, low and coaxing.

"Much as I love you, brother," Michael says, and the admission is a small victory, just enough to sweeten whatever irritating logic must follow, "if we were to spend the rest of eternity together without breaks we would drive each other insane. You know that as well as I do."

It never was like that before. But of course, things were different then. It was not just the two of them. Their siblings were there, and their Father too.

"Not eternity," Lucifer allows. There's some truth to Michael's words, and he knows he can't ask for that much yet. His brother has never been alone, not truly (even in the Cage, he wasn't on his own like Lucifer had been all these eons), so he can't understand, and Lucifer doesn't care to explain. "But I think we'd survive a morning."

"And so we will. But not this one."

Lucifer relents, pulling his brother close for a last, lingering kiss on the lips before letting him up. Michael smiles at him, pleased that Lucifer is doing the responsible thing. He dresses quickly, throws on a pair of jeans and Lucifer's white prada shirt that has its firm written on it in big cyan letters.

Lucifer chuckles at the irony. The Devil wears prada, and apparently so does his brother the Sword of God.

The shirt compliments Michael's figure nicely, and it makes Lucifer's lips curl into a smile, because there's something immensely satisfying in the idea of his brother teaching a class like that, an inside joke no one else can hope to understand,

It's not about ownership or even possesiveness. It's about belonging, with each other, always.

So much as he'd like to whine and insist until his brother caves and stays, it doesn't feel like a defeat to watch him leave. Because Michael will always, always return to him.

**Author's Note:**

> Because the world needs more michifer fluff and I'm probably not gonna do very well in maths this year. I regret nothing.


End file.
